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“I probably look like death and smell like death, so please … let me keep my dignity here.” His fingers moved from my wrist to my hand, placing it on top of his chest. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“You will be because I’m here now,” I said, maternal determination in my voice.
He lost his argument at that, and his eyes fell shut. His lips tipped upward, and it made my heart pitter-patter. Why couldn’t he smile more often, not when he was in an utter state of delirium caused by a high temperature?
“I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” he slurred, his eyes still shut. “That’s my job. Why I was born. It’s my purpose in life. I take care of people.”
I paused, just staring at him, at the light stubble forming at his chin, at the length of his eyelashes with his eyes shut. It wasn’t fair, was it? All the responsibility set on his shoulders.
“Maybe you should let people take care of you sometimes,” I whispered.
I watched the even rise and fall of his chest, wanting to hug him for no other reason than for taking on that role, for being a good guy. He could have left the company to his brothers, he could have chosen to be less, but he hadn’t. He took on the world and refused to let it crush him.
I admired that more than he’d ever know.
“First things first.” I placed the washcloth in the small basin and got closer, on my knees.I am going to need all my strength for this one.“Let’s get you into a fresh, clean shirt. This one is damp.”
My arms went to the upper part of his chest, right underneath his armpits, and I lifted him.
“Becky,” he said groggily.
“Just help me a little here. Can you sit up?”
He grunted as I helped him to a sitting position. Grabbing the edge of his shirt, I lifted it to his neck. And then I just … stared. I couldn’t help myself. Because damn …
I knew Charles worked out on his lunch break at work, and for the most part, he ate clean, which paid off because holy washboard abs.
“Are you taking advantage of me, Becky?” Charles tried to joke, his eyes still closed.
I pushed his shirt over his neck and pulled it up his arms before throwing it on the floor.
“And about the other day … about Mr. Woody.”
Mr. Woody?
I smiled because he was cute, making jokes.
“That’s a natural reaction in the morning for men.” He coughed a few times. “But let me tell you a secret.” He coughed again. “Mr. Woody is almost always at attention whenever you’re around.”
Oh goodness. High-fever delirium.
My cheeks heated. Thank goodness his eyes were still closed, so he wouldn’t witness my flaming hot cheeks.
As hard as I tried, I couldn’t help but be flattered because there was no way I couldn’t be.Did he like me?I truly hoped and wished he did.
I shook my head, dimming the thoughts. Wanting him, wanting him to like me, would complicate things—this job, my relationship with the kids. He couldn’t like me. He wouldn’t like me if he knew about my broken past.
I focused on the task at hand and pushed the clean shirt over his head and down his stomach. With a lot of effort, I helped him slide down to lie flat again.
It was fine until I fell on top of him in the process in a bigoomph.
“Taking advantage now, are we? You don’t even have to ask.” In that moment, he sounded like Brad.
I would have laughed if my pulse wasn’t in overdrive. I pushed myself off of him and groaned when I spotted the Tylenol on the tray on the floor.
Mother-pluckers.
I stared back at my patient, who was now snoring soundly.
